


And Everything Turned To Sand

by Ysavvryl



Category: Radiant Historia
Genre: Bad endings, Based on Original Release, F/M, Memories, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 06:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19043257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ysavvryl/pseuds/Ysavvryl
Summary: To find the true history, one must explore many dead ends.





	And Everything Turned To Sand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NightsMistress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightsMistress/gifts).



_Oncoming Calamity_

Wearing a brown cloak to be less noticeable, Stocke shifted through the microfilm records of Alistel’s newspaper.  It was all just another tool of General Hugo; the articles had to be taken with a grain of salt.  But if it wasn’t something that affected Hugo directly, there should be facts in these.  Somewhere.  Even the obituaries could be suspect, but there likely was one he wanted to know about sometime in the past year.  The library was hushed around him, not entirely silent due to occasional coughs, a squeaky wheel from a cart, and whispered conversations.

One obituary had the important term; he stopped skimming to read it.

‘A tragic fire occurred this week at the home of the renown botanist R. Aloe, claiming his life along with those of his two young children.  The cause of the fire is unknown at this time.  Dr. Aloe was mostly known for his studies into the mana properties of herbs, vegetables, and grains.  They have no other known family, so we express our condolences to the Aloe family’s friends.’

This would be them, from eight months ago.  This was looking to be a repeat of the time he’d tried to help the botanist and his children without realizing what the father’s research could do.  Given the people involved, Stocke theorized that Fennel had gotten word somehow of the conut research.  He would have focused on the potential to power thaumachines.  Would he order the botanist killed to steal his research?  Whether he would or not, it didn’t matter as Hugo would to win the war.

Sighing, he opened the White Chronicle on the desk and made a note about this.  It responded to his wishes and appeared like an ordinary book, nothing to stand out in a library.  “I might have been able to get them out,” he said quietly to himself.  “But if I went back, those two would encourage me not to take this path again.  Could I extract this family without violence?  More importantly, could I convince Raynie to come out this way that early?”

In an ideal circumstance, pulling a civilian family out of danger could be done with no violence at all.  But when fighting was taken out as an option entirely, a mission like that could quickly fail.  Fighting was the easy option in many cases.  Whether it was right or not depended on the circumstances.  And it was looking like choosing not to fight may have been the wrong decision here.

That felt bad to realize.  Stocke had wanted this to work.  Yes, it had been an impulse and impulsive choices tended to be foolish.  But it had been a well-deserved impulse.

Very well-deserved.

* * *

_Hugo the Omnipotent_

There weren’t many human guards down here; true loyalty was often proven when one was losing ground.  There were many thaumachines around to block their way, in various states of functionality.  With his loyal friends, Stocke cut through the basement halls to find Hugo.  He sensed who was going to move when, subtly shifted time so that his group attacked first, then cast Will’o’wisp to start things off.  Marco wasn’t that strong, but he knew how to knock even these heavy enemies into each other, making it easier for him and Raynie to attack more of them at once.  He’d even struck somewhere vulnerable that made the thaumachine’s body hiss.  Sometimes a precise attack did more damage than a strong one.

Stocke’s side ached in memory.

* * *

_Simmering Fury_

After several chaotic fights, Stocke found himself on his own.  These stone halls were thick with a smell of decay, giving this abandoned place an oppressive atmosphere despite the large spaces.  This was where Heiss had run to, but which hall to go down?  And where was everyone?  Something wasn’t feeling right; it was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind.  There had been a node before coming in here.  With that, he could continue until he figured out what was wrong and then stop it from happening.

He headed back to a crossroads to check out the side paths.  There was a scuffling of boots.  On guard because this place was dangerous, Stocke stepped into the crossroads and checked what was around.  A few distant monsters, but Marco was the one he’d heard.  “There you are,” he said, coming over to him.

“Have you seen the others?” Stocke asked.  Marco was a good ally, but he was more likely to speak with Raynie.  He’d even speak to the others before speaking to Stocke.

“Down that way, I think,” Marco said, pointing further back.

“Good, we should regroup,” he said.  And take more care not to get scattered again.  Usually his allies were better about that, but the dust in these halls got kicked up by magic and that got disorienting…

…albeit not quite as much as a blade in his side, slipping into a seam in his armor.  The blood was darker than his cloak, which usually disguised such vulnerabilities but someone who knew him well might have seen how the armor was constructed.  The sharp pain was worse than usual, quaking his calm and briefly leaving him unsure what to do other than get away from whatever was hurting him.  And it was Marco there at his side; his sword had other bloodstains on it, something Stocke had missed before out of trusting him.  There was a bitterness to his eyes that reminded him of someone else…

* * *

_Stray Lion_

There were times that he saw Rosch in his dreams and woke up in a cold sweat.  Why betray his homeland?  Why fail to assassinate the heir to the enemy’s throne?  And then travel with her instead, listening to her tales of desertification, rebellion, and ritual… why betray their friendship?  That bitterness was sorrow and painful anger, edged like hate.  And then his vision would come true: his best friend dead by his actions.  What could prevent this?

Something should, and Stocke had the means to do so.  The White Chronicle was in his lap the moment he thought of it.  Putting a hand on the cover, he wondered if he should just abandon this timeline.  It certainly wasn’t the first time he considered it.  While they couldn’t say anything direct, Teo and Lippti ought to give him some hint of when to go now.  Maybe back to the other history?  He had Rosch’s Gauntlet, which could help the Rosch there.  But what could stop Rosch here and get him to listen?  They could camp elsewhere, but Stocke suspected that Rosch would still confront him eventually.

There was some laughter outside of his tent, reminding him of why he was reluctant to give up on this timeline just yet.  That would leave Raymie and Aht on their own when the forces of Granorg and Alistel would both love to capture them.  As the only two of his allies left after Rosche’s attack, Stocke wanted to keep protecting them.  Although really, they’d be alive in other timelines and this one was definitely doomed.  It was written in the White Chronicle already.  It only took the loss of one important person to be the end of hope and three were gone now.

“Maybe if I can get them somewhere safe and secluded,” Stocke mumbled to himself as he sent the Chronicle away and got out of his sleep pants to dress for the day.

Aht would protest.  Last night when he’d been considering abandoning things, she’d burst into tears over something and begged him not to leave.  Neither Stocke nor Raymie had been sure what set her off.  “We’re both in the same trouble as you, so we’re not leaving you behind any time soon,” Raymie had said, patting Aht’s back while she clung to Stocke by the fire.  “You don’t have to be scared of being alone.”

“I’m not scared of being alone,” Aht insisted.  “But he can’t go.”

If he did get to a point where he could leave the two of them here, Stocke would have to slip away before either of them realized it.  Maybe she’d talk today about what had troubled her so much.  They were survivors and friends, so they should be able to talk with each other freely.

It was the scream that woke him up fully, followed by another that caused him to grab his sword and rush out of his tent.  Aht’s fallen body had a spear still in her chest, Raynie wouldn’t survive with that much blood already, three soldiers in Granorg armor near the firepit, early dawn’s light filtered dimly past the trees, a pot with hot water had spilled by the fire… and he hadn’t gotten to putting on his armor yet.  Or any clothes for that matter.  Those guys were not going to live another moment.

“Whoa, you…!” one of the soldiers said, startled at his appearance.

Stocke did not care and shifted time subtly.  In the space of those two words, he ran right up to the speaker, noted that he didn’t have a neck guard, and beheaded him in a single blow.  The other two were less careless.  However, that didn’t slow Stocke down in dispatching them too.  There was a rustle from a bush; someone must have been watching over things and fled.  No matter; he didn’t have a reason now to stick around.

Time caught back up to him, gripping his chest and leaving him feeling weak for a few seconds.  Closing his eyes, he focused on his breath and releasing the tension that came of being vulnerable.  A few seconds here and there were worth it to succeed.  Even if the win was ultimately meaningless.  He checked on the other two.  Maybe some reassurance before they passed… no, they were already gone.  They hadn’t been prepared for a fight either.  What had relaxed their guard?  They were on the run, Raynie was a mercenary and so shouldn’t be so careless.  While she was young, Aht noticed things others didn’t and wasn’t as careless as one might think.

And there might be others around; their enemies weren’t careless either.  Otherwise, they might have given up by now.  “Sorry,” he said to the other two.  “I hope you’re at peace… I’ll see you soon.”  He then went back to his tent to get dressed,  gatherhis things, and then use the Chronicle to return to Historia.

As he prepared, he thought back to a few days ago.  They’d found this forest looking to get as far away from civilization as possible.  It was unknown territory, promising.  Excited by the trees and a presence of mana like Celestia, Aht had pranced around and told them more about the powers of mana that she knew about.  Raynie finally seemed cheerful again after the deaths of the others, getting into a playful debate with her about why she couldn’t use mana sight or other powers like that.    Stocke didn’t remember the specifics, other than it was a lot of ‘I could!’ ‘Nuh-uh!’ ‘I could if I tried!’ ‘Nope!’.  He’d just stayed quiet, to the point where they both played at being exasperated because he wasn’t laughing at them.

But it made the day seem bright and hopeful, like maybe they could find peace.  Like maybe they didn’t have to worry about problems beyond surviving from day to day.  Or maybe not even that, if they got really lucky.  There had been a thought in Stocke’s mind at the time that those hopes were too good to be true for the moment.  For a bit of time, though, he had ignored it… and those two chattering and laughing girls were now dead.

Stocke opened up the White Chronicle once he was ready and left this time.  And everything turned to sand.

* * *

_Simmering Fury_

Using Vanish didn’t make him safe, especially not here in the dusty ruins with someone who knew about that power.  Stocke didn’t want to think of Marco as an enemy.  Someone to avoid for now, that was better.  Moving carefully because of the deep cut in his side, Stocke stepped over his own footprints while limiting the noise he made.  Make his footfalls light… even though it was painful, hold back on panting, or gasping when something made the wound twitch.  He’d healed it as best he could but there was going to a be a scar there.  On his skin, on his memory…

Of course it was Mimel.  Stocke had assumed that Marco was going to be fine because he stuck with him… but assumptions were vulnerabilities as much as the seams in his armor.  Things seemed fine since nodes to Historia appeared as normal.  There were a lot of other things to keep in mind, yes, but the shame of getting caught off-guard was a feeling he hated.  If he’d just considered how that decision would make Marco feel past that moment in time… that was a long ways back with many things to redo in between.  Stocke could just go there and find some other way to deal with Mimel… probably talking Garland into sparing her in exchange for information on her employer… were there other seemingly mundane decisions that were affecting Marco and the others?  Maybe he should review everything just in case.

When he found Rosch and Eruca dead, Stocke knew he should leave this time.  He could use a mana crystal to make certain he was in decent enough shape to go back into normal time.  But habit got him to check on their bodies and guess at what happened.  It could be the shock of it all; Stocke saw them both dead again and still didn’t want to believe this could happen.  Marco had been serious about his training lately, deadly serious.  And where was Raynie?  Or Aht… Marco could have warned Raynie off, with lies or maybe with the truth.  He may have spared Aht as she was still a child… or not, maybe he just wasn’t seeing their bodies.

From the look of it, Eruca had died first… and Rosch’s armor was full plate with less vulnerabilities to weapons.  Magic could have done him in, since a focused use of spells could use that armor against him…

“How many times am I going to see you all die?” Stocke muttered to himself as he called out the White Crhonicle to get out of this time.

And everything turned to sand.

* * *

_Hugo the Omnipotent_

Scouring both the timelines, every possibility in case of something he’d missed: that was why Stocke was back here again.  He still felt like something was missing, some piece of the puzzle that would make the real source of desertification clear.  Maybe multiple pieces.  He was fairly certain that he wasn’t missing something about his friends.  They were all here with him, ready to help even if they weren’t sure why they felt so strongly about things.

Marco noticed the discrepancy most often.  Maybe he recalled some of the hatred and fury he’d once felt?  Convincing Rosch in one timeline to stop sulking and get himself together when he was needed had convinced Rosch in the other to abandon blind loyalty for what was right.  But if Marco recalled his deadly feelings, he didn’t speak of them.  He looked to Stocke with confidence in their friendship, not bitterness.  Stocke felt grateful for that.

That made him feel some guilt over what he was returning here for.  It was a long shot, and actually was a stupid decision that he’d not given a moment of consideration at first.  While he normally thought things through carefully, this was clearly insane.  Huge was clearly insane, talking to Noah in a deluded fashion hoping to seem mystical.  He’d taken a power of time to endlessly undo his wounds.  When it did end, it would burn him completely.  Accepting power from him was more than likely not to work.

But what if it did?  He was calling it the light of the Prophet Noah.  Stocke was almost certain this was going to lead to another dead end of time.  But if it could shed some light on what was going on, this foolish risk might turn up some seed of wisdom.  Until it was clear without a doubt, it was worth doing because he could always abandon this time and escape to Historia.

The crystal on Hugo’s staff shone when he stepped forward.  His friends behind him were calling out in alarm, especially as black markings appeared underneath Stocke and prevented them from grabbing him back.  Observing the patterns of mana, Stocke figured out what kind of power this was… it was that of destruction.  It crushed his chest and darkened his vision, reminding him of another time he’d nearly died.  One of several times.

* * *

_Beast God’s Reign_

The way the Gutral elder spoke of the ritual, Stocke considered interrupting to tell Gafka to reconsider this choice.  To release one’s humanity in order to unleash the power of the beast, it sounded worrisome.  But when he got the Gutrals to talk with him, they considered becoming the beast god to be an honor worthy of legend.  They were hoping that the Beast God emerged like the people of Alistel hoped every day to speak to the Prophet Noah for themselves.  This should be a good thing, to end the war so people could focus on the real threats to the world.

The nail in Gafka’s hand burned red like embers.  Little else changed visually, but the mana changed vastly.  It made Stocke’s skin crawl in reminding him of some bad times.

* * *

_Assassination of Raul_

There were thaumachines patrolling the lands.  Hidden in a pale tree, Stocke observed one following a sandy path.  It didn’t have a human patrol with it.  Taking a rock, Stocke threw it on the other side of the thaumachine.  The machine paused and fired a bolt of lightning at the spot that the rock had landed.  Then it waited, hissing and humming as it tried to observe the area.  Stocke stayed in the tree, poised to leap if it attacked his way.  That lightning wasn’t as swift as true lightning and he could get away from it.

Although the tree had lost its color and some of its leaves, the thaumachine moved on after five minutes.  Stocke kept still until he couldn’t hear it anymore.  This was the third one he’d seen today.  Celestia had been invaded despite their barrier, the people slaughtered or scattered.  From some Gutrals around, he theorized that Forgia had been conquered as well.  And this morning, they’d discovered that more of their soldiers had deserted to join Alistel as they seemed too powerful.  He used to be able to say that he had his closest companions still.  Not anymore…

His stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten today.  Hadn’t eaten much in a while.  They had to scavenge what food they could, eating whatever was at hand.  Everything tasted sandy too; the sand was in the air, on their clothes, in the water, everywhere.  He’d seen others die from infection, illness, and hunger, as much as the violence in these days.  Even though he ate whatever he could (often without thinking of the taste or texture), Stocke felt weak and weary of this.  They managed to run away, living from day to day to fight when they could.  But was it worth it now?  This was a spiral of defeat, staggering downhill ever since Raul had been killed in battle.  It looked inescapable.

To everyone else.  Stocke knew that he could get out whenever he wanted with the White Chronicle.  Get to another time and place when food was relatively plentiful… he knew several great places to stop for a meal, then get a bath to wash off all this sand and a night of peaceful sleep.  He wouldn’t care what it would cost since he’d lacked all of it for months.  However, it felt unfair to everyone else in this timeline.

He really shouldn’t care.  After all, it was clear that the desertification wasn’t going to be stopped in this now or its future.  It was better to seek out that razor-thin path that led to a future of hope.  He would find his companions in other times, in better shape, as strong as they should be… alive.  This time should be given up.  But, what about his companions in this time?  They’d perish, maybe today, maybe tomorrow, maybe many tomorrows away.  It was unfair and he couldn’t explain to them about why.

This atmosphere of defeat was oppressive and he could no longer trust himself in a fight.

“My mission is to find the true history,” Stocke said, then summoned the White Chronicle.  “I’m sorry, those of you who are left here.  But this time has no future and I won’t find the answers here.”

He picked out the node to the first major decision he’d made, to get some help from Sonja and Rosch so he could get back in shape. He’d have to redo those early days later so that they didn’t remember seeing him in this malnourished state.  But for the relative peace and quiet of those days, it’d be worth it.

And everything turned to sand.

* * *

_Beast God’s Reign_

Sonja had saved Stocke’s left arm, thankfully.  It had to be stitched up and bound for several months from Gafka’s attack.  While it was frustrating to be limited in what he could do, Stocke knew his responsibilities demanded him to be in good shape.  He sometimes thought that he should also thank the Gutral elder for stopping the Beast God from killing him on the spot for being human.  However, the Gutrals praised the heavens that the Beast God had come to them.  They’d kicked everyone else out of Forgia, even the Satyros when Aht protested.  Now they said that it was divine will that Beast God Gafka was destroying every potential enemy of the Gutral people.  If Stocke had a chance to speak with the Gutral elder in this timeline, he’d rather demand to know why they thought Gafka becoming the Beast God was a good thing when he was no longer Gafka at all.

The excuse that it was what Gafka intended was unacceptable.  Stocke could understand why they’d see the Beast God Nail as a village treasure; it had religious significance, which was fine to keep around.  But to make becoming the Beast God an enticing legend for power when it turned them into a mad beast that sought to destroy whatever non-Gutral was before them, that was reckless.  Stocke felt he should really go back and speak up to stop Gafka from becoming this.

But what of now?  Survivors had gathered in Cygnus.  Fences of swords, spears, and even sharpened logs had been placed around the paths into the walled city.  Ditches with traps had been dug in strategic locations too.  While Stocke didn’t think that would be enough to stop the Beast God, it might slow him down enough that the defenders could prepare.  They couldn’t hold a siege here.  Food and other supplies would run out before the Beast God and other Gutrals would give up.  Their best hope was slaying the Beast God while he was dealing with the traps out there, using an overwhelming barrage of arrows, catapults, and anything else they could fire at range.  Stocke had given his thoughts and ideas towards that goal, plus a few back-up plans in case traps and ranged attacks weren’t enough.

As for himself, though…

Stocke rotated his shoulder around, the movement smooth and pain-free.  While he wasn’t left-handed, he took a staff in his left hand and swung in around in practice.  Sonja had approved of his recovery a few days ago.  He’d tested himself ever since, not enough to strain his arm since that would be counterproductive.  When he got back to another time, he intended on reinvestigating some periods of low activity when patience was needed.  That should let him get back into his mission without being noticeably hindered.

Taking the staff in both hands, he went through a few practice drills.  The drills weren’t much use in battle.  That wasn’t the point.  If he got caught with this kind of weapon, the drills made sure he’d know the offensive and defensive motions without thinking.  Someone came into the practice room while he was in the middle of the drills.  It seemed to be a woman… after a moment, he spotted Raynie near the door.  He focused on finishing his practice since she didn’t speak up.

She was still there when he was done, so he asked, “Did you need something?”

“Huh?  Oh no, I was just wondering where you were.”  She smiled.  “You looked really good with that; I thought you only used swords.”

Stocke shrugged at that and leaned the staff on the wall.  “It’s good to have basic knowledge of common weapons, in case you need to use them or fight against them.”

“Sounds like a lot of work, but it makes sense,” Raynie said.  “Hey, what are you gonna do today?”

What did she what to know?  It wasn’t really her business to know.  And, she might not like what he had in mind.  “Something.”

“Something like what?” she pestered him.

And she might continue to pester him.  “Preparing for Gafka to show up.”

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” Raynie said.  “You just recovered use of your arm!  You need some more time before you get involved in a fight like that.”

“We don’t have a choice of when he’ll show up,” Stocke said.

“That’s true, but still, don’t be reckless,” she said, putting her hands on her hips.  “There’s lots of others who have been training here for this.  It’s gonna be real tough, but we’re not going to let everyone be wiped out.”

Except that even if they defeated Gafka, the desert would not be stopped in this timeline.  “I know, but I’ll be on watch.”

Instead of that, he waited until he was alone, then took the White Chronicle and left.  It was a better use of his time to just go back and prevent Gafka from becoming the Beast God in the first place.

And everything turned to sand.

* * *

_Hugo the Omnipotent_

“You can’t die here, Stocke,” Aht said, her power wrapping around him.  “Don’t die, for anything.”

A memory came back to him, of a time when she gave her life to get him past an obstacle that he didn’t yet know how to overcome.    All power had been drained out from her, leaving her pale and trembling before she vanished.  But not into sand like others he’d seen.  She disappeared into sparkles of mana.

The others were dying.  He couldn’t see it as his sight was faint, but he felt it.  He felt their mana being crushed out of them.  This really was a foolish choice.

He felt a small hand take his as he tried to will himself back to Historia.

And everything turned to sand.

* * *

_Oncoming Calamity_

As a result of getting his heart crushed with the power of destruction, Stocke had sought out some quieter times to get a grip on things.  He ended up in Skalla in a time that didn’t seem important and Marco had asked him something he’d never mentioned before.  That had led Raynie to say that she loved him and ask that he put away his sword and live a peaceful life with her.  While his responsibility was saving the world, something overcame that in the moment and reminded him of nightmares he remembered.  His heart crushed by destruction, seeing her die more times than he would count… a life of peace trying to find a way to end desertification without anyone else dying sounded perfect.

Now here he was, walking through Lazvil Hills with Raynie after the trip to Alistel for research.  The war was still going on even though both sides were in bad shape.  Stocke had a sword at his side this time because there were deserters turned thieves in areas outside of towns, making such treks dangerous.  However, Raynie didn’t have a weapon.  Stocke kept hold of her hand as they walked along so he could Vanish with her if need be.  The sword was a last resort if they got in a bad situation.

There was a lot of sand on the ground.  Grass tried to grow through but browned quickly.  Alongside the road, the river was low and clouded.  Trees and bushes were pale while no flowers were in sight.  This looked ominous.  When he’d been checking the newspaper microfilm, he’d seen articles about improvements in thaumachines giving Alistel victories in the war (but no mention of the equal number of losses they faced against Granorg).  The recent newspaper in the library mentioned a new type of thaumachine being nicknamed the Sun Warrior.  Reading between the lines, Stocke noted that this Sun Warrior might take mana directly from the environment.

“What are you thinking about?” Raynie asked, breaking up the silence of their walk from Alistel.

What did he want to tell her?  “Things,” he replied.

Tugging at his hand, she asked, “What things?  Come on, let me in.”

Of course she would keep questioning him.  Stocke smiled a little.

“Aw, don’t give me that cheeky smile and silence,” Raynie said, moving even closer to him.  “You don’t even laugh, at anything.  You could tell me about anything you wanted; I keep telling you that, but it’s tough to wring anything out of you.  I want to help you, but it’s hard when I don’t know what’s bugging you.”

It was hard to know what to tell her.  He certainly couldn’t tell her everything since it’d take way too long.  In most cases, a few of the important pieces were enough.  “You’ve been helping me all along,” Stocke said, which was the truth.  He reached up to a tree they were by.  “Seeing this land is enough to worry about.  Look, these trees have so little mana…”

He clutched a pale leaf, meaning to snap it off.  But it crumbled right away into sand in his grip.  Somehow, that caused the entire tree to crumble into sand.  It showered down immediately, burying the frail grass under it.  He’d heard rumors of this happening when the desertification got to a terrible strength.  But he hadn’t seen it himself.

After a sneeze, Raynie took his arm with her other hand.  “That is horrible.  But we can still do something about it.  Right?”

It was only a year and trees were falling apart.  This time was too far gone to save.  But what did he do?  Stocke often felt guilty for escaping these dead ends and leaving behind his friends.  His duty usually got him to carry on.  This time, it felt much worse.  He wasn’t sure where some people were; he was sure he didn’t want to give up this time with Raynie.  Not yet.  And certainly not leaving her abruptly with no idea why he’d never be back to her specifically.  He’d come back to her, but not to the one he was holding hands with now.

“I don’t know,” Stocke lied, knowing exactly what he had to do.  He gripped the sand that had fallen in his hand, then tossed most of it away and brushed the rest off with his cloak.  “I also don’t know how I old I am.”

“Are you serious about that?” she asked, then smiled in trying to cheer him up.  “Well of course, you’re always serious.  But that’s strange.”

Picking out pieces to tell her, enough for her to get an idea of a picture, Stocke explained, “I got really sick a few years back and lost nearly all of my memories before that point.  It had been during my training so Heiss was the one who ended up taking care of me.  At the time, I didn’t think it was that important…”

“No way, why’s that?” she asked.  “That’s horrible too, just losing all of your memories like that.  How could you not think it was important?”

“Well I knew why, and I knew my name,” he said.  “That was enough for me.  Then I got so busy with training and missions to really think about it.  But now that I’ve had time to think about a lot of things, that came back to me and, yes, it is strange.  There’s a few things that I might remember from my childhood, although I’m not sure.”

“Things like what?” Raynie asked.

It wasn’t that important, or maybe it was.  Since they had a long way to get back home, Stocke started telling her about those old memories.

* * *

_sometime_

the light of the afternoon sun dancing off flowing water… a creamy yellow rose on a dark green vine held by a woman’s slender hand… his running footsteps in grand halls (and fragments of being scolded for it until he figured out how not to get caught doing things)… a large shelf of books that few were interested in reading when he felt anger, trepidation, and awe at a sense of duty far bigger than himself… dirt that didn’t want to give way to a shovel but it should be dug… voices of those dear to him but not the things they’d said to him, tastes of nostalgic foods that he couldn’t name but he’d know if he tasted them again… it was details of things that he remembered, disconnected from what he’d done.  ghostly memories, nothing he could grasp even when they drifted into his thoughts on their own.

His first solid memory…

He felt like his head was entirely disconnected from his body, full of searing air that pressed against his skull and trying to escape.  His body was cold and heavy, struggling to breathe although it didn’t want to stop.  When someone put an icy pack on his head, it was a shock and partial relief.  He felt mana moving into his body, trying to cure him but there was a long ways to go.  He opened his eyes to see who was sitting at his side, tending to him.

Hei… the sound lingered. He’d later learn it was Heiss.  “Ah, you can pay attention again,” he said, smiling down at him.  “You may relax now, Stocke.  You’ll recover soon.”

He wasn’t sure what to think or feel in that moment, but being told that he could relax, Stocke closed his eyes and tried to sleep in spite of his illness.

* * *

 

_sometime later_

In the middle of a drill Stocke was trying to learn, something hard hit his shoulder.  He shifted his movements to turn and check… it was a spoon, clattering on the floor now.  And Heiss had been the one to throw it.  “You should have better awareness, my boy,” he said.  “That could have been a dagger.”

It would be daggers later, and darts, and knives, and various other things to make sure he would be difficult to catch off guard.  Stocke was never bothered by it.  After the second time, it became just another thing Heiss did to train him.  He worked on sensing such projectiles no matter what he was doing, then on dodging or blocking them.  On watching Heiss do some tricks, Stocke figured out how to knock some projectiles back at the one who’d thrown them.

Heiss was proud of him for figuring that out on his own, so Stocke felt it was good progression.

* * *

 

_The Lion General_

The progress of the war could be measured in feet by day, where the lines between Alistel and Granorg shifted in the back and forth skirmishes.  Unfortunately, this made the lands being fought over worthless for agriculture and mining.  This led to strained supplies while the experienced soldiers grew weary.  The battlefields were increasingly sandy as well.  With how many battles he fought in those lands, the Lazvil Hills, Judgement Cliff, Gran Plains, the Sand Fortress, Stocke knew those areas strategically by memory.  He was also getting to know Hugo’s strategies well.  Every battle plan seemed like a variation on what he’d done before, albeit sometimes because he’d go back to nodes before battles and try them again.  But anytime he wasn’t there, and sometimes when he was, Granorg’s forces would win back what he’d claimed for Alistel.

And now the conscriptions officer had brought in a group of boys that couldn’t be older than twelve.  “We’ve been training ourselves for months in accordance to the words of the Prophet Noah, sir,” one of them said, his eyes sparkling at what he thought was a dream come true.  “An-and we’re really proud to be serving under a great general like you, sir, General Stocke, sir!”

“Army service is not like training,” Stocke told them.  After dismissing the boys to train under one of the lieutenants, he held the conscription officer back.  “Are you really giving me kids for new soldiers?”

“Yes sir, it’s Hugo’s latest orders,” the officer said, a twitch of the eye betraying that they weren’t happy about this either.  “It was anyone capable of taking up arms, no age limitations set, just so long as they can wear armor, hold a weapon, and fight.”

“I see.”  He waved the officer off, then considered the current war plans.  Battles would slow down in around a month as winter set in… hopefully.  What to do with the children until then…?

Or should he even bother?

Without thinking twice, he caught a dart flying at him.  The presence of mana made it clear who it was as no one else felt like this.  “Heiss.”

There was nothing malicious in his expression or words, so the dart was in jest.  “I’m still disappointed you’ve stuck with the army,” Heiss said, a smile on his face despite that.  “Although given what you’ve made of yourself, I’m still proud of you.  You could accomplish anything you set your mind to if you weren’t constrained by higher authorities.”

“Would that include you, if I was still with you?” Stocke asked.

“Perhaps,” he said.  “Would you like to see what you could do?  And whatever came of the White Chronicle I gave you?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

His discussion with Heiss didn’t reveal much, but it did make Stocke consider this timeline.  He’d tried many branching paths off it; they hadn’t gone well.  The desert continued to grow as did his administrative duties as a general.  How had Rosch handled doing all the menial duties associated with this title?  And now he was being asked to send kids into large battle as soldiers.

“This has been ridiculous and is now untenable,” Stocke said to himself, deciding that he should give up on these branches of time and go back to figuring out how to save Rosch.

And everything turned to sand.

* * *

_Oncoming Calamity sometime earlier_

“Hey, I got something special for us,” she said, placing a wine bottle on the table.

“What for?”

“I just wanted to try some, that’s all.  I mean, we were told to decline this kind of thing politely to keep our heads clear, if possible.  But we’re on our own now, just the two of us.  Why not?”

There were more reasons why that she wouldn’t realize he knew.  Earlier today, he’d unknowingly put himself in a spot to eavesdrop on her and a neighbor.  Raynie was worried about how things were between them.  She kept trying to ask him personal questions that he was unwilling to answer.  Maybe because he didn’t want to remember those things.  Maybe because it was a part of his duty which he was supposed to put before himself.  Then again, this time was less about finding non-violent means of ending desertification and more about indulging himself for a little while before the inevitable came… he’d yet to find a better option.  Stocke knew she was really doing this because she loved him and wanted to care for him, but he was a difficult person to understand.  It had taken a great deal of time for him to understand himself, after all.

“…alright.”

Despite her intentions, Raynie still ended up doing most of the talking.  Stocke got absorbed in listening to her.  “It’s a lot of work taking care of a house, you know?  Even though it’s not very big.  But it’s our house, so I want things to be nice.  Though I’m not sure what would make things nicer.  I just want things to be comfy and easy to clean.”

“It’s good,” Stocke said, relaxing into the couch.  This was lowering his guard, which would be a problem. But it was just her with him; there wouldn’t be trouble.  Not like he’d seen…

“What do you want to do with decorating around here, to make things nicer?” Raynie said, looking around.  “Our neighbors have woven blankets hung on the wall, and those are nice.”

“I don’t care, I just want you to be alive,” he said.

“Well surely you want something more,” she said.

“No, not now,” he said and broke into tears.

He didn’t try wine again, but letting go and being with her made him feel more relaxed.  Even happier in days after that.

* * *

_Oncoming Calamity_

Stocke worked as a gravekeeper now.  At one point, Raynie had called it morbid.  He didn’t see it that way.  Tending to graves gave him time to think, figure out what was important without emotion getting in the way.  Even the emotions keeping him in this time.  And now, it gave him a place to practice out of her sight, to make sure he wasn’t rusty after a year of not fighting.

Love was a beautiful snare, he thought.  It was painful to get away from the peace and happiness within.  In this case, it wasn’t cruel.  He might have to be cruel despite not wanting to be.  This wasn’t going to be the true history, so he shouldn’t care.  But he did care and that made it hurt.  Would it hurt her in the node that started this timeline when he went back and declined her offer?  He’d already decided that he wouldn’t turn her down entirely, instead asking her to wait until the important matters were settled.  That would still be a cruel lie that he hated himself for planning to say.  If he could find the source of the desertification and solve it, he could undo the lie and make it truth.

If he spoke with her about it, maybe she would even let him go, unlike a similar snare from a more innocent love born of friendship.

* * *

_Fleeting Peace_

Mana was rich here, bubbling up in green glimmers that even those not sensitive to it should notice.  The land was blanketed in lush green; the spring was a deep blue of pure water.  While sunlight filtered in from above, this dream oasis was entirely enclosed within the earth.  Refreshing breezes blew through invisible holes that not even mana sight could reveal.  There were no exits.  And when he tried to dig out (by sticks or rocks), the holes would be refilled once he looked away.  To get away, he’d need…

“What are you doing with that book?” Aht asked, appearing near him.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

“I want to know!” she said, swaying and clasping her hands behind her back.

“Reviewing things until I fall asleep,” Stocke answered.  “You gave me one spot of privacy, which I appreciate.  But I don’t have another private spot to change out of my armor and sleep.  This isn’t comfortable for sleep, so I’ll just get tired enough to not care.”

“That doesn’t sound nice,” Aht said.

“It’s not,” he agreed.

Her lips tightened like she was trying not to frown.  Her swaying slowed as she considered this carefully.  “I can give you some pajamas, and some better clothes to relax in, and you could change over there.  Will that work?”

Stocke shook his head.  “You’re a good friend, but it feels strange to know you could be watching me at any time.  It’s hard to fall asleep like that.”

“I don’t want you to make yourself that tired, um…”  After another sway, she vanished and reappeared next to him, barely in sight.  Guessing what she meant to do, Stocke pretended not to notice as she snatched the White Chronicle away.  “You don’t need a big old book like this to fall asleep.  See?  I gave you a tent now, and some other stuff inside.  Go look!”  She then vanished.

“Hey, that’s mine!” Stocke called, getting to his feet.

“You don’t need it now,” Aht said from outside this space.  “I can get you some other books if you want, ones that are more fun to read!  Lemme go look.”

“I want that book back,” Stocke said.

When she didn’t reply, he made a sigh and went into the tent.  There was a pile of colorful clothes along with some cookies and milk.  The book would return… as he thought it, the White Chronicle reappeared in his hands.  As it was bound to him with magic, it could not be stolen or lost.  Aht meant well, he was sure.  But she wasn’t listening when he said that he didn’t want to be in here.  It was his own fault.  He should have asked her if Isla’s companion wanted to stay as he was.  Sometimes the compassionate choice turned out to be the wrong one.

Stocke left for Historia before Aht realized she no longer had the book

And everything turned to sand.

* * *

_Oncoming Calamity_

Feel your body move through chi… his mind drifted a bit to when he learned this.  Stocke had often redone moments in time to learn his skills.  But the time that he’d learned about chi from Gafka had been one he’d done around a dozen times just to get him to agree.  Gutral morals and manners were different from that of other races.  Stocke had inadvertently insulted Gafka when he needed to learn how to break a chi hold because the question itself was seen as dishonorable.  If a Gutral respected another warrior, asking how to defeat that warrior would be seen as equal to asking how to defeat the Gutral.  But it had to be done; he had been caught in a situation where he couldn’t move forward in his plans without Aht dying or learning to break a chi hold.  It took a careful polite wording to get Gafka to help him there.

He’d said that learning to manipulate chi took years… Stocke was sure it’d taken him a month in total even though Gafka thought it’d taken him an hour.  In his case, Stocke had an unconscious understanding of chi already.  His soul was different than most, connected to his mind and body through ritual bonds.  It meant he had a gift for sensing mana and chi.  What Gafka had done was let him understand it consciously.

Here, he could observe the motions of his body from within, while keeping his attention without.  Stocke went through his sword drills and made sure he wasn’t seen doing so.  It didn’t take long for him to feel like he could get back in the fight.  Still, he stayed in the graveyard until Raynie came looking for him.  “Stocke, what are you doing?” she asked, worried and angry.

“Sorry, but I have to stop the desertification,” he said.  “It’s not working this way; the tree we saw yesterday is proof of that.”

“I guess,” she said.  “But when you take care of that, you can quit entirely?”

“I should be able to, but can’t say for sure.”  He put his sword away to turn to her.  “Raynie, I can’t tell you the specifics, but I need to do this on my own.”

“Well, I hope you can take care of what you need to quickly,” she said, rubbing her eyes.  “When will you be back?”

“When I’m done, I’ll come back to you,” Stocke said.  A tiny bit of truth, in the wrong order.  A wish he wanted to be true.

“All right, I trust you,” Raynie said.  “I wish I could help you, but I haven’t been practicing.”

“You gave me a year of peace, which I needed,” he said, taking her hand.  “I’ll find a way to make things up to you.”

She hugged him.  “You don’t have to.”

“But I do.”  He put an arm around her and held onto her for a while.

“Just… take care of yourself… better… mmm…”

He shifted to look at her face.  “What’s wrong?”

She smiled wearily; her mana was strangely and terribly low.  “It’s fine, I’m just tired, for some reason.”  Then she closed her eyes and turned to sand.

“Raynie!”  His heart pounded from instinctual fear, then rage.  What just happened to her?  She hadn’t glowed black, so it wasn’t the Black Chronicle.  But, the mana of the area was moving strangely.  Stocke followed after it and saw that others in Skalla were turning to sand.

While he tried to run, his movements became sluggish.  He didn’t have the Etherion with him; this could get dangerous soon.  But he wanted to know… and past the gate to the city, he spotted a giant thaumachine, gleaming gold as it drained mana from everything near it.  To power itself?  It must be the Sun Warrior thaumachine that he’d read about.  A part of Stocke wanted to destroy it right here and now.  But, that was foolish.  Chances were good that it’d drain the mana from his body before he could stop it.

“You might win the war like this, Hugo, but you’ll lose everything doing so,” Stocke said, then escaped with the White Chronicle before it was too late for him.  He felt like he’d lost everything himself in trying to hold onto it.  Sure, he would go right back to his friends; he would see her again.  But he’d lost this time that was precious to him.  Only the memories remained.

And everything turned to sand.

But eventually, it wouldn’t.


End file.
